


Eyes are the Window to the Spirit

by totallyinnocent



Category: Strange the Dreamer Series - Laini Taylor
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Oneshot, Sickfic, anyway take this, did you know there are only THREE. THREE fics of this pairing??, im so upset about it, sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:34:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26516797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totallyinnocent/pseuds/totallyinnocent
Summary: uh. thyon is stupid. basically a spin on the Scene.I'm never going to make another one of these again I just read the book so like
Relationships: Thyon Nero/Lazlo Strange
Comments: 4
Kudos: 8





	Eyes are the Window to the Spirit

Thyon Nero was, quite literally, out of spirit.. Every time the syringe entered his veins it was just fast-forwarding the clock. He had been losing it already, like water from a leaky faucet. The faucet had to have been broken, however; and it was, years ago, when his father promised the whole kingdom his son could make gold with alchemy.

Thyon could not make gold with alchemy. He tried for a year, gathering the components of materials and minerals, just trying to indulge in the glorious opportunity. It wasn’t enough. His father took out what everyone in the kingdom was feeling on him with a series of whips. That was when it started. Right from the first crack, he was broken. The spirit draining from him as fast as a bucket with a hole in the bottom.

Yet, with the single gesture and solution of a book, the hole was covered. Mostly. The book had been from an orphaned librarian boy. He had a name, Lazlo Strange, an odd name, but a name. Out of the blue, he barged into Thyon’s place, waving a book of children’s tales around, explaining how he could make gold. It was weirdly touching.

A frail, nerdy boy with sunless caramel skin unloading all the research he put into the book, trying to help Thyon. He made the gesture out of kindness, a kindness that brought pink to Thyon’s cheeks. It was also a little demeaning. How could he have solved one of the world’s greatest mysteries with the knowledge of a children’s book? Needless to say, Thyon kicked him out.

Sure, he would’ve been glad for the company, but his father would’ve only beat him more for having distractions. All that was left of him was the silly book. The silly book with ancient pages that had been taken extraordinary care of despite being read a hundred times over. The silly book with a worn spine from being read a hundred times over. The silly book Thyon read through back to front a hundred times over.

And Lazlo was right.

Thyon Nero could make gold.

It came at a price; the price of your spirit. Every bit of his spirit used would make the batch of azoth bigger, so he saw no need to stop. His spirit was a candle already lit, but with dozens of more flames surrounding it. What was left of him kept growing smaller and smaller and smaller until he was standing in _this_ room.

He looked a mess. His normally golden blond hair had fallen flat into a dull yellow. The natural dewiness of his skin only appeared as a sticky coat of fluid. Then there were his eyes. Every time he looked into the mirror, he was drawn to his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to stare at the hollowed shell of what he once was, so he stared at his eyes.

His eyes were a striking blue, even with the drainage. They were the one part of him he couldn’t seem to wipe free of spirit. It was his only sign he hasn’t completely been drained. As much as he hated staring at himself and grew sick of his eyes, they were the only comfort he could ever find. Those eyes didn’t belong to him. They were so full of life and love and everything he’d been washed out of years ago. They belonged to someone else.

A soft knock on the hardwood door sent Thyon out of his spiraling thoughts about his eyes.

“I’m not hungry!” he called, but it came out as a pained rasp. He sighed and cleared his throat, walking up to the door. He opened it grandly, expecting to see a measly servant groveling at his feet, forcing him to put on that wretched persona. It was not a groveling servant of Weep. It was, however, someone who he had to put on this persona for. “Strange?”

Lazlo Strange and his crooked nose in all its glory, standing in front of the doorway. He looked awkward, but not ready to dash away at the first sight of trouble. “You look terrible,” he gaped, immediately clamping a hand over his mouth. “No, wait-”

Thyon rolled his eyes, though his blunder did send a small smile he had to repress to his face. “You can tell Eril-Fane I haven’t made any progress yet,” he stated, assuming that was the reason Lazlo had come by so late at night.

The metal was going to be the death of him, spirit drained or not. The azoth could melt through any material or mineral, even Diamond or the earth. Yet, this slick blue siding wouldn’t budge, no matter how much time he spent making it or much azoth he slathered on the face. It was still as pristine as when it arrived 200 years ago.

“No,” Lazlo started, shaking his head. “I just needed to see if you’re okay. You aren’t.”

Again, Thyon rolled his eyes. “I don’t need you to take care of me,” he scoffed, ignoring the burn in his throat.

“You don’t ever come out of this room. I see the plates they take from you; you hardly eat anything. Even your dumb sidekick isn’t hanging around you to stroke your massive ego-” he faltered at the end, scared he had crossed a line.

As much as he wanted to laugh, Thyon was growing dizzy from standing so long. Not wanting to prove Lazlo’s point, he trudged back into his laboratory and sat on the edge of his bed, not surprised Lazlo followed, but annoyed. At that point, he wanted to go to sleep, as it was clearly the time for such a thing, but also because he hadn’t slept in four days. But Lazlo was there. He wasn’t going to show weakness in front of Lazlo.

His ridiculous shiny grey eyes were focused on him in concern. “You need to sleep.”

“No, I don’t,” Thyon stated, heaving himself upward and toward the rickety table, trying as casually as possible to let it support the entirety of his weight.

Lazlo cut him off halfway before he could reach the table, causing them to have a close-proximity standoff. “Go to bed.”

Thyon narrowed his eyes. This whole endeavor of traveling to Weep had changed Lazlo. All his life he had been told his passion was childish and ridiculous. Being here, in the kingdom of Weep he had studied itself, had certainly been a boost of confidence. It was inspiring to watch, mainly because he could watch from afar. Right now, however, he wished Lazlo would shrink back into the shadows of bookcases as he had always done when Thyon walked by.

“Strange-” Lazlo wouldn’t hear any of it. He caught sight of the shake in Thyon’s legs and took hold of his shoulders, spinning him softly back in the direction of the cot. Delicately, he pushed him towards there, following his grudging steps with his own.

Thyon flopped ungracefully face-first on the cot and right when Lazlo and feared it was his fault, he saw the relax in Thyon’s muscles as he let himself mold into the bed. In the struggle to pull a blanket over himself, Thyon felt the calluses of Lazlo’s fingers as he brushed against his arm, freeing himself from the tangle of sheets and tucking him underneath.

Thyon couldn’t compare that moment to sometime in his past when he was ill. Whenever he came down with a cold or the flu, he was shoved into his room with a bottle of medicine to make do with. Besides, that felt more intimate than a parental figure taking care of a child. He felt the warm sigh of Lazlo as he hovered over him, staring worriedly.

“I’m trying to _rest_ ,” Thyon mumbled, much to his own regret as Lazlo turned to leave.

But Lazlo stopped. He turned to the cluttered space of the table instead and began tidying it up. He read over papers and organized how he saw them fit. The labeled vials were slid into the many holders Thyon had been provided with and neglected. The minerals and materials had been cracked and crushed into shards and powers, so Lazlo did as best he could.

While he was cleaning, Thyon rolled over to look at him. He could admit, the change had been drastic. His pale, scrawny figure had grown into a lean, muscular sun-kissed one. The ratty hair that he used to hide behind was pulled back into a handsome bun, showing the well-exercised line of his jaw. And of course, his eyes. His eyes seemed to have been polished to a shine ever since the warriors first arrived and everything he knew to be true was proven before him. His spirit was practically overflowing.

Thyon opened his mouth to say something. Something. He didn’t know what he was going to say, but the silence was so comfortable it became uncomfortable. Instead of words, his throat decided that it would be a perfect time to close up, sending him into an embarrassingly childish coughing fit.

Lazlo was by his side in a moment, seemingly frantic on what to do. He settled on pouring him a glass of water from a worryingly full pitcher and handing it to him after sitting him up. Hesitantly, he rubs a hand on his back, watching the deep gulps Thyon took as he downed the cup.

“Thyon…” Lazlo began. Thyon perked up at being called by his first name, then harshly fell into Lazlo’s side, though still clutching the cup desperately. “You’re sick.”

He wanted to laugh, but the pain of his throat said otherwise. “I’m a lot more than sick, Strange,” he quipped hoarsely, every word felt like rubbing his throat on a cheese grater.

Eyeing the table, where a single container laid untouched, Lazlo said, “I know.”

In that container was an unhealthy amount of Thyon’s spirit. Thyon knew that. Lazlo knew that. Thyon knew that Lazlo knew that. Lazlo knew that Thyon knew that he knew that. And so on. It was this massively painful elephant in the room.

Eventually, it was unbearable. “You need to stop.” Thyon didn’t say anything, just stared into his empty cup. “You’ve been doing this for years, Thyon. You look like you could drop dead at any moment.”

He held out the cup in silence, waiting till Lazlo set a newly filled one into his hands before talking. “I need to do this. You don’t get it.”

Thyon could see the angry brow on Lazlo’s face. It wasn’t in a, “I hate you,” kind of way as they had normally looked at each other before. That time, it was different. Different in a way neither Thyon nor Lazlo could comprehend.

“You’re right; I don’t get it. I do get that all this pushing isn’t to help these people. You’re here just to help yourself.”

He wanted to stand. He wanted to make himself bigger. But he couldn’t. He was a sickly mess with only the comfort of a cup and his enemy. “I’m not here to help myself. You know why I’m here.”

Then the room was silent. Out of every floorboard and corner was dripping tension. Both of them knew what had happened that night. It only took Thyon connecting two and two before he realized what Lazlo had seen. Then it weighed over both of them in an odd way like Lazlo had decided to take on some of the burden himself.

“Sorry.” Thyon just shook his head. “But you need to stop draining yourself. It’s even messing up your immune system.”

That was true. Because of the lack of coddling Thyon received when ill (and in general) as well as constantly being around powders and toxins, he had a pretty strong immune system. Until then, of course.

Thyon shrugged.

Lazlo bit his lip, eyeing the container. After making it so Thyon was leaning back against the wall and not him, he slowly edged towards the container.

“Strange?”

Lazlo ignored him and grabbed the syringe resting in a holder.

“Strange?” Thyon wanted to demand what on earth he was doing, but had a twisted feeling in his gut that he knew.

Lazlo cleaned off the needle on the end, once again ignoring him.

Thyon grasps the edge of the bed, watching Lazlo with wide eyes and he lowers the needle to his veins. Before he realized he did it, he pushed himself off the bed and stumbled over to the table, making a grab for the syringe.

“What are you doing?” they both asked at the same time.

Lazlo held the syringe out of reach from Thyon, causing Thyon to fall onto him. Even while their chests were pressed together, they kept at the game. Thyon on the tips of his toes reaching over Lazlo, while Lazlo bent backward, clutching the table edge.

“Quit it,” Thyon huffed, pushing through the throbbing pulse in his head.

Lazlo pushed Thyon back so they were standing facing each other. Then, as fast as light, Lazlo had the syringe in his arm.

“Lazlo, _stop_!”

Lazlo flinched and the syringe slipped out.

The room was silent. Any of the background noise that had come from outside had suddenly gone deaf to the two of them.

“I’m trying to help you,” Lazlo mumbled, looking down, the furrow of his brow becoming prevalent once more.

Thyon let out a painful sigh that sent daggers into his lungs. “Not like this.” He puts his hands on Lazlo’s shoulders, trying to not depend too much on him for support. The silvers of Lazlo’s eyes met the sad blue of Thyon’s. “You’ve helped me far too much for this to be okay.”

What Thyon was referring too is debatable. On one hand, he could have been referring to Lazlo sacrificing some of his beautiful spirit for him. On the other hand, he could’ve been referring to what they both wanted.

Lazlo pressed his lips to Thyon’s and stayed there, not moving, just taking in the fact this was actually happening. He set the syringe down after breaking contact, eyes still locked on him. He wasn’t unsure, a little embarrassed, but not unsure

Once Thyon processed what happened, he let himself relax onto Lazlo and be helped to the single bed.

His mind raced over the small kiss He knew Lazlo got flustered from the sight of a woman’s collarbone, yet, the simple press of his lips sent Thyon’s heart aflutter. He thought about the kiss after Lazlo laid him down. He thought about the kiss after Lazlo made sure he was fully covered in sheets and blankets. He thought about the kiss after Lazlo blew out the candles. He thought about the kiss after Lazlo quietly left the room. He thought about the kiss as he fell into a deep, well needed, sleep.

When Thyon woke up, it was not a peaceful rising. He was woken up by frantic hands on his shoulders. For a moment, after coming to his senses, he thought it was Lazlo. But Lazlo would never treat him so roughly.

He couldn’t really tell who was talking to him, but he caught a “flight test,” and “Lazlo.” Thyon would have loved to have the option to say it was the voice saying “flight test” that roused him, but he couldn’t fool himself.

Once he sat upright, his still very prevalent sickness hit him once more, as well as the faint memory of Eril-Fane claiming the flight tests would be today.

As graceful as a fawn, Thyon manages to stand and pull on a clean pair of pants. In a sleep-induced haze, he makes it to the site. Everyone sat in an excited restlessness, waiting to hear the results. Not Lazlo.

“Where’s Strange?” Thyon asked no one in particular.

A girl who normally is around Lazlo answered with, “On the flight.”

Something felt wrong. He didn’t doubt the flight engineers' abilities, they wouldn’t be here if they weren’t the best. It was a gut feeling. Something was wrong.

“Where’d they go?”

The girl answered again. “The clearing over there.” She made a gesture with her hands that Thyon was grateful he understood.

He started running. His lungs were full of mucus and his head of cotton, but it didn’t matter, something was wrong.

Right when he has the sight in his line of vision, he stops. The craft lay in a wreck around them and the four were clearly in a frantic state. Eril-Fane looked like he had just seen a ghost. The two women were holding one another closely, though clearly for different reasons. Then there was Lazlo. Even from where he stood, he could see his mind was spinning. Thyon couldn’t tell why, but there was definitely some sort of revelation besides the near-death experience.

Eril-Fane turned to them, eyes wide and nostrils flared. “No one can know about this,” he glowered in his native tongue.

Lazlo wasn’t prepared to let whatever had happened go so easily. “The people of Weep could be in danger. We can help,” he shot back, in the tongue of Weep. It was smooth and natural for him like he was born speaking it.

There was the tension of a starting argument, but Eril-Fane gave a look that shot down the whole ordeal. Then, right after he was sure no one would step out of line, he stormed off back towards the waiting area, narrowly missing Thyon. With Eril-Fane went the two women, one looking more desperate to follow him than the other.

Lazlo was left in the clearing. Thyon edged closer. Lazlo was too busy studying the sky to notice when Thyon drew closer. It was only when Thyon tugged on his arm that he noticed him, mainly because of the pain that shot through him.

Lazlo clutched his arm and subconsciously snatched it away from Thyon. Thyon understood, but it still hurt.

“Thyon,” Lazlo laughed breathily. “You scared me.”

“Let me look at it.”

Lazlo’s metallic eyes met Thyon’s icy blues. “What?”

Thyon felt the red crawling up his neck. “Your arm. Let me look at your arm when we’re in the lab.”

He didn’t hesitate once Lazlo nodded, Thyon just grabbed him by the middle and led him back in the direction of the building. Not entirely sure where he was going without making a stop at the waiting area, where everyone was, as well as still not being fully oriented in his senses, it took them a little longer to reach the building. Once the building was in their site, it was a careful marathon to the room.

At the sight of the door, there was a breath of relief from both of them. Lazlo so he could rest his arm. Thyon because the trip while still sick wasn’t an easy one.

Lazlo sat on the edge of the bed, eyes following Thyon as he fumbled through the newly organized supplies to try and locate the bandages he kept on hand when dealing with azoth.

Thyon felt the presence of Lazlo’s eyes, innocent burning through his skull. It was uncomfortable yet soothing having Lazlo watch him in a more positive light. There was a different kind of feeling in the room. It wasn’t full of malicious wishes or snarky remarks; it was more caring and hesitant.

After pulling out the many drawers, Thyon finally located the bandages.

“I really don’t think anything is wrong. It was just hit really hard-” he faltered, looking worried about something.

As much as Thyon wanted to know what had happened, he was more concerned with Lazlo, which was an interesting change.

“Even if it was, you can’t put any pressure on it,” Thyon explains taking Lazlo’s arm carefully in his hand, wrapping it slowly. Once the arm was bandaged as well as he could with his stuffed up senses, Thyon maneuvered Lazlo’s arm into a sling.

Lazlo smiled softly. “I don’t think it needs all this.”

“I just want you to be safe,” he huffed, looking into the gleaming eyes staring back at him.

This time, Thyon leaned in. Thyon placed a soft kiss onto his lips and made to move back, but Lazlo took his free arm and kept him close. They stayed like that, sitting on the bed with their lips pressed against one another’s, and Thyon felt a warmth growing inside of him. A warmth he hadn’t felt in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> whether it was an innuendo at the end or thyons spirit coming back you'll never know <3


End file.
